


Double Edge of Betrayal

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Millennium (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Sometimes you can't predict everything. Other people  are put there to mess up the otherwise perfect plans, and it's  inevitable that there are victims in the crossfire.





	Double Edge of Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Double Edge of Betrayal by Fleur

Title: Double Edge of Betrayal  
Author: Fleur  
Rating: A weak R  
Keywords: Crossover (Millennium/X-Files), Slash (Mulder/Other)  
Summary: Sometimes you can't predict everything. Other people are put there to mess up the otherwise perfect plans, and it's inevitable that there are victims in the crossfire.  
Archive: Wherever. I'd appreciate a line. And if anyone has anything for a Millennium Slash archive, let me know.  
Disclaimer: They're mine. If you don't like my laws, I'll see you in court. I swear that the video's mine. I let Frank borrow it.  
Feedback: Apparently, it was my first word.   
Note: Thanks to Frankie and Twilight for making it all better. But I still hurt...  
Explanation: You can probably get through this fic with no or minimal Millennium knowledge. It helps to have a basic grasp on the characters, though. This *is* in my Millennium/X-Files alternate universe. All that means is that Alex Krycek is Frank Black's son. Ask me for more information if you need it. Whoever picks up the rather obvious Frank Black cliche gets a kiss from me.

* * *

==========================  
"Double Edge Of Betrayal" by Fleur  
30/1/99 or 1/30/99 if you're weird  
  
==========================

The way one responds to emotional injury is always an indicator of personality. I know this firsthand. Myself, I'll either throw myself into work or go completely over the edge. My son, Alex, will go - leave the house, drive away, try to leave it all behind. Jordan will try to ignore whatever it is that hurts, and I suppose in that vein she's the same as Alex. 

I've heard all the screaming from upstairs, and I know what's going to happen. While I stay on the couch, watching 'Soylent Green', Alex will run across my vision, straight out the door, slamming it behind himself. Probably taking my Jeep, he'll drive off. Next, Mulder will come stalking downstairs, debating whether to run after his lover or not. Thirdly, Jordan will come downstairs, and ask me why they were fighting, where Alex has gone, when he's coming home... all sorts of questions I don't know the answer to. 

Not everything happens as I expect. 

The screaming continues on cue, and I can hear the too -familiar hurt-and-angry tone in Alex's strained voice. I cringe as the door slams violently, and return my attention to the movie. Soon after the door, I hear the heavy footsteps down the stairs. Alex comes into my line of vision. His face is contorted in pain, and I want to comfort him. Ignoring me, as he often does, Alex walks straight out the door. The sound of a car engine follows, and the squealing of tyres. I hope it's not the Jeep. Alex isn't the best of drivers when he's angry.

The softer, calmer footsteps of Mulder sound, and soon he's at the bottom of the steps, looking at me. I meet his eyes.

I've always wondered what Mulder thinks of me. It can't be much - simply the father of his lover - but I wonder. Perhaps he sees his future, an old man who should retire, but is so obsessed with his work that he refuses. Someone who so neglected his family that they... (Don't go there. Don't think about Catherine. If you don't think then you can't hurt....)

Mulder sighs, then runs both hands over his face. I look up at him, but don't say anything. His shoulders suddenly move, and I can see that he's sobbing.

This unnerves me. Mulder's never cried before, at least, not that I've seen. Such an open show of emotion in front of me... I mute the television. Mulder stumbles in his self-inflicted blindness, and eventually reaches the couch. He sits down next to me - in that place that's just a tad close for comfort. I shift my weight awkwardly.

After a while, during which I simply watch the actors onscreen play out the drama in silence, the sobbing subsides. Mulder draws in a breath, and his hands fall to his sides. The left brushes my thigh on its way down. 

"What..." Mulder sounds like he's struggling to get his voice under control. "What are you watching?"

"Soylent Green," I reply easily. My voice sounds terse, strange. 

There's no answer from him, and I press stop on the video. Flicking the television off, I turn to Mulder. "What was the fight about?"

His gaze wanders, to the windows behind me, the dead television screen, out to the foyer, and back onto my face. "I don't really know," is his reply. "Which just exemplifies what an insensitive jerk I really am."

In surprise, my hand shoots to his shoulder. "Don't talk like that. You're wonderful to, for and with Alex." I become instantly aware, once the words leave my mouth, of the burning sensation between my hand and his shoulder. As if afraid of getting bitten, I snatch it back, leaving it down uncomfortably at my side.

Mulder's watching my face, and I know he can't know the feelings inside me. I hope. He smiles without moving a muscle in his mouth, and softly, replies, "Thanks."

That *mouth*. I wish he'd use it to smile. Alex has talked about Mulder's lower lip - often in delirious sleeptalk - but I've never noticed it. 

Noticed it before.

These thoughts are *wrong*. That's the only word for it. He's my son's lover, but...

Without warning, Mulder moves forward on the sofa and puts his arms around me. I don't know what for - comfort? something further? - but, slowly and after a pause, I return the embrace. We simply sit there, holding each other. He feels so different than anyone - than Catherine. Even different still from Peter - and so I would hope. 

Mulder moves forward, sideways, until my knee meets his groin. Difficult as it is to believe, the younger man is hard. I can't believe it, I truly can't. 

One word flashes through my head: Why?

Why is a gorgeous, taken, young man like Mulder getting a hard on for a boring, ugly, depressed, *old* guy like me? 

We stay like that for a while longer, until he starts moving a little, grinding his groin into my knee. I want to pull back. I should pull back. We both should. 

Instead, Mulder meets my eyes. I don't know what he's seeing there, but some sort of light in my eyes encourages him. He slides down my shin, winding up on his knees, on the floor. I know what he wants. I don't know why, but I do know what. 

Bringing both hands up to the waistband of my pants, he unbuckles the buttons on the front. One hand gently slides inside, and I can't supress my groan, which brings me back to reality. 

I can't pretend this away. I'm not Alex, and shouldn't be in this situation. Mulder isn't Catherine, and this isn't right. It isn't. 

Mulder senses something's wrong, and looks up at me. (Something's wrong? Try everything.)

His hand is inside my underwear, and his other hand comes up to touch my cheek. It's an apologetic gesture, nothing else. Neither of us moves.

There's the quiet sound of the door opening, and then the not-so quiet sound of it slamming shut. My gaze freezes. 

Alex walks through, not looking at either of us, and straight up the stairs. Mulder sees also, and takes both his hands away.

Shame washing over me, I do my pants up, and stand up. I can't look at anything except my feet.

After a minute, Alex comes back down the stairs. Finally, I look up, and see Alex, whose face is beyond hurt, holding Jordan. Jordan won't look at me, but in the dim light, I see tears glinting on her cheek. Perhaps she saw... (No. Don't even think that.)

I want to move forward, take Jordan from Alex and just hold her. Remind myself that my relationship with Catherine shouldn't be disregarded and forgotten, even though she's gone. But I can't. 

Mulder has an expression of utter shame on his face, and I imagine I look similar. 

Alex looks at us both, locking us into his steely glare. 

To Mulder, he says, sounding utterly disgusted and hurt, "You slut. You sick, disgusting, whore."

The words cut deeply, and Mulder steps back as if he's taken a physical blow. 

Then Alex turns to me. "And you. You sick, old, fuck."

Holding Jordan tightly, he walks out the door. The way he closes it softly, without making a noise, slices through me. 

I hang my head.

========  
end  
So, has your father ever done something like that?   
  
========


End file.
